My nighttime visitor

I can hear the ink black drops splashing on my window sill.
Each raindrop, dashing against the glass, shattering into a hundred tinier drops, their swan song forming an alien language of the eternals.
From creation to destruction is but a matter of milliseconds, forgotten before they could be remembered.
What if they live ?
Would they know how insignificant, how fragile they are? How quickly they go from perfect aerodynamic shapes sculpted by that deceptive element, wind, into a shapeless , growing puddle on my floor?
Or would that be as aeons to them?
What is a long time ?
50 - 60 - 70 -80 years?
Centuries ?
A millenia ?
Eternity ?
What time does it take for a human life to be fogotten as though it never was?
What time does it take for a civilization to vanish ?
What time does it take for a planet to be barren and devoid of life, to go from green to red?
What time does it take for star to snuff itself out, greedily devouring everything around?
What time does it take for a galaxy to die?
Maybe out there, there is someone to whom there is only one answer to all those questions.
An instant.